


forgotten memories

by minecraftyoutuberthings



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: POV Second Person, not a “reader” fanfiction, spooky boi ooooo, wooo ghostbur wooooooo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27740899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minecraftyoutuberthings/pseuds/minecraftyoutuberthings
Summary: You remember a life that makes you dizzy with flashbacks at the oddest times—a whiff of gunpowder, the touch of cool stone under your hand, or the anthem that you so clearly, clearly recall...Thoughts of Ghostbur as he acclimates to living with no previous memories.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. why you are here: a composed thought.

**Author's Note:**

> take note that this is in second person, in ghostbur’s pov!

Everyone looks at you a little wrong.

They’re all welcoming, of course, welcoming as they can be to someone they knew once alive, now dead without his memories. They give you a spot in their country, recently devastated, a nice area on a hill overlooking a gaping crater. You don’t like staring at it too long. It makes your vision double, knees weak, and an overwhelming urge to grab a hold of something and _push._

The president is understanding, you’d like to think. Shorter than yourself, enthusiastic and tired at the same time. You repay him in recreating his country from the ground-up, helping lay down the very foundations and communal areas that make it look well-rounded, alive, and vibrant. 

You don’t understand the color of it all, being paler than anyone else, a sickly grey that makes your stomach churn when you look at your creation, magnum opus of your life after death, so different, so disconnected to who you are. So different, in fact, that you burrow away, hide from the overwhelmingness of the people you once knew, the nation whose very dirt feels like a familiar tune, into a sewer to your liking.

You _want_ to know why these people speak to you in the way that they do. Hesitant, curious, even angry—you cannot imagine your past life to have been one of anger, taunting, proud and loud. Nothing to have caused the unbridled rage in his eyes, the words that should have meant something to you. Should have. 

Remembering a life that makes you dizzy with flashbacks at the oddest times—a whiff of gunpowder, the touch of cool stone under your hand, or the anthem that you so clearly, _clearly_ recall—you shouldn’t want to embrace it. You could live your ghostly life in peace, ignore those around you and continue to work in the country, to pay the regrets of a self you’ve never known. 

But you _want_ to help. It is what you owe these people. Not fancy buildings, not reclusiveness. 

You owe them your past self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pretty short but i have a lot more that i want to write, because i absolutely love the concept of ghostbur. thanks for reading!


	2. comforting strangers: a detached, panicky action.

Sam is a nice man. Sam is a man whose face does not ring many bells in your head, whose kindness doesn’t feel back-handed and most importantly, lives nowhere near L’manberg.

Every building in L’manberg is on support pillars, staircase leading to each platform in an intricate, united way. You like to think of the citizens themselves in a similar way, each linked to each other through their memories of friendship. 

You wonder if alive Wilbur had similar connections. 

Obviously, as of right now, you don’t have them. You don’t know where Techno is, nor any idea of who the Creative Director is, or why he is so close to all of the citizens. The name Schlatt barely rings a bell but the memorial you chose not to attend was grandeur and extremely hypocritical. Maybe it’s better that you don’t remember. Maybe, you want to feel the same relief as these people, instead of this building feeling of discomfort and slight delusion. 

Maybe you just want to feel something again. 

Sam’s house is void of all of these lingering memories. The machines are always clicking and whirring away, deep into the night. It helps you sleep, the constant noise becoming comforting and reminding you of the presence of Sam, always working diligently on his next project. You start to spend more time there. 

One morning, when Sam had been waiting on his super-smelter, you mentioned offhandedly that it was a bit odd to sleep in George’s old room, abandoned but still cluttered with his previous belongings. It felt intrusive, you explained to him. He nodded his head thoughtfully, sent you back to L’manberg with pumpkin pie, as his day was busy, and renovations had to be made. 

Your sewer home had never felt as quiet and cold in the absence of Sam’s. Fundy looks at you in this awful, twisted way when you present him a flower, something you wouldn’t have noticed normally. Tommy wreaks havoc just a few days later, dragging you into it as you try to rebuild your balloon shop. Then...

Then you can’t quite remember what happened. 

But Sam says that you showed up at midnight, shaking and making jerky, vague motions and mumbling. You almost don’t register this, though, as the area you’re in is different and foreign. 

It’s a room. 

It’s not George’s or Sapnap’s, but rather a completely new addition to Sam’s house. Hollow, mostly, with furniture that’s very Sam-like and basically nothing else. 

Nothing except for the picture-frame hanging on the wall. 

The picture is of yourself and a few other people you recognize. Tubbo, Tommy, Jack, Niki, Fundy, Eret, and even yourself. All wearing these odd revolutionary outfits, the colors resembling something you’ve seen before.

“Sam,” you say, voice foreign and strangled to even yourself. “What is this?”

A photo he’d found in Pogtopia, Sam says. And your eyes widen almost involuntarily, a sense of dread almost instantaneously pooling in your gut. Pogtopia—Pogtopia. 

You grab your hand and squeeze it, hard. Thanking Sam for the stay at his home, you practically book it all the way to L’manberg, not settling until you cross the ten thousand block mark and into the sewer once again, cluttered with unread and opened books. 

You don’t go back to Sam’s house for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone, i’m back with some awesamdude in this fanfic! because i like awesamdude and no other reason tbh. again, there’s not even a reread on this so i hope it’s decent enough! thanks for reading (and drop a kudos/comment on your way out, it’ll motivate me)(that was a joke)(half joke)


End file.
